Of Scars, Hoodies and Bomber Jackets
by DeepWriter
Summary: Have you ever wondered why whenever we see Matthew he always wears a red hoody? Or why Alfred wears a Bomber Jacket? Or why Francis wears a dress shirt? It's the scars... the scars that haunt, yet change. For better or for worse.


**Of Scars, Hoodies and Bomber Jackets**

Matthew sighed and leaned back into the pillows of the couch, his feet were propped up at the other end of the couch and his sweater was cushioning his head on the armrest. Enjoying the peace and quiet while it lasted, Canada picked up his book (Alice in Wonderland by Lewis Carroll), and Matthew always did have an affinity for fantasy books. He loved the idea of sliding down a rabbit hole and finding a whole new world at his fingertips. Matthew snorted at his choice of words and wondered if that was what France and England felt like when they stumbled upon him and America? Like they slid down the rabbit hole? Either way the Canadian opened his book and was engrossed in the world. He hoped dearly that he wouldn't be found here (after all there were a lot of rooms like this in the World Conference building) he chose this room in particular because A) he wouldn't be mocked about his reading B) England wouldn't scold him for putting his feet on the furniture and C) he could take off his red hoody…

But of course, this is Matthew we are talking about.

* * *

America sat on his chair oddly, by oddly I mean his lower back was laying where his ass was supposed to be, his legs were where his back was supposed to be and his head was hanging off the end of the chair, watching the T.V. Most nations who walked by just gave him a weird look and mumbled about crazy Americans. The only person who was actually staying in the room was England. But even he was struggling with himself not to just snap his book shut and walk off.

This was how Francis found them, Alfred being oblivious with his face turning cherry red from the blood running to his head and Arthur glaring over his book at the boisterous American, muttering something that sounded a bit like 'uncouth' but the Frenchman wasn't here to chat he was wondering where he put his CD of his favourite (French) singer. But he was startled out of his reverie (as was Arthur) when the American loudly and suddenly proclaimed.

"I'm bored!" Alfred whined.

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Then go find something to do."

"But nothing is interesting!" Alfred grumbled.

Francis rolled his eyes. "Listen to musique, then."

Alfred frowned at him. "I don't want to. The radios are only playing that stupid Mariana's Trench band from Canada. Honestly, stupid Canadians."

Francis and Arthur exchanged annoyed looks before turning back to the American, only to find him on his feet. "That's it! I shall find the one we call Matthew Williams and hang with him!"

Arthur immediately had an image of Matthew and Alfred hanging by nooses… but he shook it out of his mind, stupid Americans and their sayings. "I'm sure Matthew wouldn't want you to disturb him. He's probably doing something much more preferable."

If Alfred caught the insult, he didn't catch it. "Then you'll come with me!" Alfred chirped, grabbing the Englishman's arm.

Arthur spluttered indignantly as Alfred pulled him up, making him drop his book. "I said nothing of the sort!" Arthur cried out, as he tried to push the stronger man off of him.

"Don't care! C'mon Franny! You're coming with!" Alfred cried and grabbed the (no longer) dignified Frenchman.

Francis gasped, outraged. "Of What did you call me?" He demanded, but his voice was lost as the American tugged them down the hall.

"C'mon! He's gotta be around here somewhere!" Alfred's voice rang out. "I just gotta-!"

"Alfred! Will you just let us go and leave your brother alone?!" Arthur voice snapped back.

Matthew's head snapped up quickly and he stared at the door, quickly he stood up and nearly over balanced with the force and quickness of his movement. His red hoody was kicked under the couch and his book landed on the floor, the pages being bent by the force of the book. Canada yelped and picked up the book, straightening the pages and placing it on the coffee table. He then remembered his hoody and searched frantically for it –hering his adopted family get closer- his eyes widened in horror as Alfred threw open the door and grinned upon seeing him. Matthew gave a quiet, inaudible gasp and his left arm immediately came across his chest to grasp the upper part of his right arm.

"Told ya he was here somewhere, Iggy!" America grinned at his former mentor.

Arthur scowled and crossed his arms huffily, glaring at the taller nation. "Shut up, I don't need you bragging in my ear, you prick!" The two quickly got into an argument.

France rolled his eyes but noticed Mathieu's stance. "Is something wrong, _mon petit chaton_?"

Matthew shook his head fiercely and took an involuntary step back. "N-no, Francis. J-just cold, y-y'know?" Matthew gave a weak smile.

France frowned and noticed the lack of the Canucks trademarked hoody. "Where is your _veston_?" He asked.

"M-my jacket? Uh… I d-don't k-know. I h-had it a minute ago." Matthew stuttered.

"You lost your jacket?" Alfred asked confusedly.

"I mean his… um… how do you say? Ah, yes! His sweatshirt." Francis proclaimed.

"H-he means m-my hoody." Matthew muttered, looking down.

"Oh… well I'll find it! 'Cause I'm the hero!" Alfred declared, not noticing his younger brother mouthing the word sarcastically with him.

"Yeah…" Matthew muttered.

"Ah! Here it is!" Alfred yelled out, picking it up from underneath the couch.

"T-thank you." Matthew muttered, reaching for it with his right hand, as his left still clutched his upper arm.

Alfred frowned at him. "Didja hurt yourself Mattie?"

"N-no… can I have my hoody back, p-please?" Matthew asked desperately.

"Y'sure? 'Cause you're holding your arm like you hurt it or something." Alfred told him, still eyeing him curiously.

"You hurt yourself?" Arthur jumped into the conversation, eyeing his youngest 'son'.

"N-no!" Matt shook his head quickly, his hand never letting go of his arm.

"Then let go of your arm!" Alfred snapped, worried.

Matt shook his head. "I-it's n-no big deal, Alfred! P-please just g-give me my--!"

Alfred's eyes flared up. "Did the communist bastards hurt you Mattie? 'Cause if they did I'll kick their asses, American style!"

"N-no! I-Ivan and C-Cuba didn't hurt me!" Matthew shook his head furiously; his glasses sliding down his nose.

France frowned and came up behind the Canadian and pulled his hand away from his arm, gasping horrifically at what he saw. A puckered pale pink scar was decorating Canada's upper arm and his left arm –directly going up it was decorated with a pink scar, the was also another that was a faded white that stretched across the bottom of his left palm.

"Mathieu! _Qu'est-il arrive_?" Francis cried out, dropping Matthew's hand.

Matthew's face turned red and he grabbed his hoody and shoved it over his head. "It's nothing, just… old battle wounds. Nothing major, nothing at all. So you don't need to worry or anything and I…"

Alfred placed his hand over his brother's mouth and stared at him. "Battle wounds? You?"

Matthew scowled at him and shoved him away. "Yes. Me." He snapped, clearly offended.

"Yo! Little bro. I'm sorry, just… from what battles?" Alfred sounded genuinely sorry but curious so Matthew sighed and tugged his hoody back over his head, ruffling his hair in a delicious way.

He gently traced the one at the base of his palm. "Seven Years War. When Francis broke off from me it… it left a physical mark."

Alfred let his fingers brush gently at a small scar behind his right ear. He got one like that when he broke off from Arthur, he couldn't see because off of his brothers long hair but he wondered if Matthew had one like his.

Matthew then traced the one on his upper arm and smiled sadly at America. "The burning of Yorktown. You remember, Alfred?" It wasn't said bitingly or cruelly like most would have said, but Canada just said it sadly.

America shifted. "Yeah… I was mad because you wanted to stay with Arthur and didn't… didn't want to go with me."

Canada nodded. "I believe I gave you a matching one… right?"

Alfred chuckled. "Yeah, from burning my white house."

The two brothers just chuckled with each other as the Europeans frowned. They always knew that the North American brothers had a close connection, what with their saying 'May this Gate never close' on their border. But they didn't realize how much the war of 1812 must have affected that border… how much they must've overcome just to be so loyal to each other.

Canada's mood turned somber again and he gently touched the one running down his left arm. "_Vive la Quebec libre_." He spat out hatefully.

France flinched but Matthew just continued. "The closest I ever came to a Civil War, in the '80's when Quebec tried to break off from me… worst thing I ever felt. But Trudeau fixed it, and now I'm bilingual." Matthew's eyes sparkled as he smiled at them before he looked at the hoody in his hands.

"I wear the hoody because most people don't see me in a war, or fighting. I like the fact that I'm a peacekeeping nation… that I'm a friendly nation and am on friendly terms with about 90% of the world. But I don't want them to freak out when they see the scars…" Matthew shrugged and met Alfred's eye.

"The reason I wear a hoody is the same reason you wear a bomber jacket 24/7." He told him.

Alfred nodded and glanced at his arms, both held scars from the civil war and the world wars. Arthur glanced at his own palms that held scars from his numerous battles and Francis sighed as he glanced at his right arm that held a stubborn scar that came from the trenches.

"Yeah… we get it Matt." Alfred muttered.

Matthew shrugged and tied his hoody around his waist. "What's your worst one?"

"I'll show you mine if you show me yours…" Alfred trailed off and the brothers both burst out with.

"That's what she said!" At the same time, both laughed and they sat down, Arthur and Francis joined them.

"Where'd you get that one?" Alfred asked. Pointing to his shoulder where his white shirt didn't cover the scar.

"It was after I became a sniper for World War One… lucky bastard, he had higher elevation than me…" Matthew started, a smirk on his usually timid face. "But he didn't know that I'm an excellent shot…"

* * *

So yep. This was the story I wanted to write before that story about Passchendaele came out. Yeah I changed Matt back to a guy. It just fit better than with my girl Maddie.

I hope you like it, please tell me in a _**REVIEW!!!!!**_

Love you guys! (btw Francis said: What happened? in that brief french statement.)_**  
**_


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